"Dragon’s Gate" by Laurence Yep, Chapters 11–19

I was so frightened that I sought comfort in his arms as I had when I was small. “Yes, sir. I know.”
Subdued, I followed Father to where the rest of the crew toiled.

Subdued, I followed Father to where the rest of the crew toiled.

“Hmm" was all Father said. I could see that he was trying hard to be tactful. “Let's try you at shoveling."

By now, the incredulous Curly was beyond betting. "Haven't you ever carried something heavy?"

He began mincing about on tiptoe. "His feet never touched the dirt. Servants carried him everywhere in a chair."

He looked worried now—as if he were afraid I was too delicate for the work.
Determined to allay his fears, I took the pole from him as if it were made of glass and squatted down so abruptly that my knees popped.

When I tried to straighten up, though, the rear basket rose and the front basket fell. Immediately I tried to compensate by shifting my hands farther along the pole.

I was just taking a second dipper when Shrimp materialized at Father's elbow.

“Shaky’s lost his mind. Honker’s a hypochondriac. Doggy’s the biggest thief in the country. Noodles would eat the bark from trees. Bright Star lives in a perpetual bog. Curly would bet that the sun will rise in the west if you gave him the right odds. No one else will work with them.”

Uncle went back up in my estimation. At least he was braver with the mountain than he was with the westerners.

“Better use longer fuses,” Shrimp suggested, and brusquely shoved the workers out of his way.

It's strange, but back in Three Willows anybody would be glad to have him pay attention to us—even if it was only to make small talk. However, that seemed like a century ago, back in the Middle Kingdom; and we were here now. I could see how uneasy he looked—as if he wanted to reestablish that old rapport.

“Help me,” I appealed to my father and uncle.

“Don’t be harsh on Foxfire. This crew barely holds together as it is. It’ll fall apart if he’s partial to his kin.”

He led me through the main tunnel, holding the lantern before us, and we turned into a side tunnel where I could see the double furrows of the handcarts in the slush.

Snowflakes had limned the wrinkles in his face so that his features were outlined in white.

And I wondered what would have happened to me there if I hadn't had Mother’s formidable protection.

He sounded almost wistful—as if he missed being in the classroom.

I thought I would test him and picked up a flake of salted fish, which is salty and pungent and not to everyone's taste, and held it out to him.

Sean slid his fork under my chopsticks and then transferred the salted fish to his mouth. I was impressed when he ate it with gusto.

“If I had listened to me da and his yahoo friends, I would have left school ages ago and let him put me to work.”

I fished up an overcooked piece of meat that I ate with far less relish than he had shown for my supper.

“Forgive the boy, Dandy. He’s so stupid, he could use his skull for a hammer.”
“It’s probably thick enough,” Dandy conceded as he wiped at the tea on the front of his coat.

Besides, if they could lie to me, I rationalized, I could lie to them.

Finally the man dropped his left fist and pretended to swing his right. Sean ducked instinctively; but it was only a feint. The man whipped his left fist up, catching Sean right on the chin.

In five minutes you’ve destroyed our name and undermined my authority.

“You disobeyed me, didn't you?"
“I'm sorry," I said, “but I had no choice." And I hunched my shoulders, preparing for the tirade.

He winced again as he sat up and took the picture. “’Tis a daguerreotype.” He went through several English words that I did not know; but eventually I gathered that people sat in front of a device and it captured their images onto a plate.

“You look a lot like her.”
“And nothing like me da,” Sean said ruefully.

“’Tis money that buys respect—like the brigands who own this railroad,” Sean said bitterly.

“They’re grand dreamers. Giants. If we can join California and its resources to the rest of the country, there’s no stopping America.”
“How convenient to have a destiny,” Sean spoke in a bored voice—as if he had heard or read the sentiments often enough.

“I was thinking—” I started.
“What a novelty,” he grunted.

Noodles glared at me contemptuously as if I had just confessed to being an ax murderer.

“Hit it,” Uncle Foxfire goaded me. “Don’t pat it.”

Then, with a shock, I realized that if some temple did add the scene, I would not be a bystander but a figure right in the middle of the tableau.

“Let’s see. I think the mouth of the tunnel is this way.” But we blundered right into a wall.

Behind us, another cheer went up; and I turned to see that other men had staggered out, having finally reoriented themselves.

“Maybe one of the holes didn't go off. Or it was just smoldering. Maybe some snow got tracked in and wet the fuses somehow.”

“All you think about is tunnel, tunnel, tunnel,” Uncle Foxfire said accusingly.
Shrimp sucked in his breath sharply. “Mind your manners."
Kilroy, however, was unrepentant.

“We’ll take it slow,” Uncle Foxfire reassured him. “The footing’s treacherous.”